Recreation: Get Out

Five-year-old Keira Robinson climbing harder indoors than the author ever has -- one of the many benefits of climbing gyms. (Chris Weidner)

Seattle rarely floods, but a constant, nagging drizzle defines its climate for at least half the year.

I spent 12 years climbing in the Northwest, where a six-hour drive southeast to Smith Rock, smack dab in the middle of Oregon, was often the only option for dry rock. Most of the time I had no choice but to climb indoors.

It was a necessary evil. In order to stay fit for real climbing I had to clock in at the gym. Sure, I enjoyed seeing my climbing buddies every Tuesday and Thursday night, but in my heart of hearts, climbing indoors, on plastic holds, bastardized my passion. It defiled the very soul of what climbing meant to me at the time: exploration, adventure, suffering -- and a life outdoors.

So in 2001, I moved to Boulder where, with zealous motivation, dry rock can be climbed nearly every day of the year. I had finally bid a sweet farewell to twice-a-week gym climbing in order to realize my potential as a climber.

Fast-forward to mid-September 2013 ... .

Nearly a month after the flood, 99 percent of our local climbing remains closed. The First Flatiron and Mount Sanitas bouldering have reopened, thankfully, but that's hardly enough terrain to slake the thirst of the largest per capita climbing population in America.

With Boulder's Big Three (Eldorado Canyon, the Flatirons, Boulder Canyon) almost entirely off-limits, and with the government shutdown eliminating some major National Park climbing destinations (like Rocky Mountain, the Black Canyon, Zion and Yosemite) climbers in even greater numbers than ever are flocking to Boulder's fourth and most popular major crag: "Valmont Canyon."

For the first time since fleeing Seattle, I've religiously climbed indoors. And what I've discovered is nothing less than shocking: children float up climbs I can't touch; new climbers have impeccable technique and appear stronger than many veterans; seemingly everyone climbs at least a number grade harder than they used to.

Chris Weidner
(
PAUL AIKEN
)

Just a few humiliating gym sessions led to an epiphany: This is how I can reach my climbing potential! If I could take advantage of the "great indoors," then my outdoor adventures could be even richer.

Slowly it sunk in that my shaky, youthful ideals of what climbing represented served only to misguide me toward a path of mediocrity. While the rest of the climbing world gained strength, technique and confidence through indoor climbing, I froze my digits on January days in Eldo, greased off slimy holds mid-summer in Boulder Canyon and was literally blown off Flatirons rock by the gusts of early winter -- all for the sake of my potential.

What took me so long to wake up to the virtues of climbing plastic? Gyms not only catapult climbers' fitness to new levels, they're crucial for the progression of climbing as a sport. Gyms introduce kids to climbing before they can even walk. Competitions, held on artificial walls, attract finances and sponsorships to an otherwise-impoverished industry. Indoor classes teach life-saving skills in a controlled environment.

And, of course, indoor gyms foster astronomical improvement in individual climbers in the same way that weights, sprints, drills, etc., train athletes in any sport. Basically, every climber aiming to reach his or her potential devotes serious time to training indoors. Duh!

Now that I'm almost 40 years old, I've finally grasped this basic training precept. I guess I have the flood to thank for my revelation.

Don't get me wrong; I'll always prefer warm rock in my hands, azure skies and autumn leaves, the utter freedom of moving over stone, the thrill and anxiety that accompanies risk and the powerful bond of climbing partnerships.

But now that I've embraced the great indoors, you'll find me in "Valmont Canyon," even long after our outdoor cliffs reopen.

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